So Much Pain Left Behind
by Diamond-04
Summary: Mycroft gets his heart broken and Anthea steps in to gather the pieces


Anthea's phone buzzed insistently in her pocket. It was well after office hours, but she was used to getting calls about work this late anyway, so when she saw Mycroft's name on the screen she wasn't exactly surprised. She did, however, find it a little strange when she realized that he had sent a text instead of calling.

_If it's not too inconvenient, I would appreciate your coming over. MH_

She frowned. It wasn't like him to randomly ask her go to his house in the middle of the night. Yes, they were close –at least as close as one can be with Mycroft Holmes-, one could even say they were friends, but she knew only of two reasons he would request something like that from her: either World War III was about to begin or he was upset about something. Anthea knew for a fact that things were absolutely fine regarding work, so it had to be the second option. She had been there before, when Sherlock wasn't in his best shape, and knew for a fact a distressed Mycroft was not to be left alone. She prided herself in being the only person in possession of that information who still lived. She grabbed her coat and immediately answered back.

_Coming. Is it Sherlock? A _

The answer came almost instantly.

_Not this time. I'll explain when you arrive. Thank you. MH_

Greg had looked grim all evening. It wasn't like him at all. There was a bit of a frown on his face, and gloom in his eyes, Mycroft thought. They had been dating for seven months now, and as far as Mycroft was concerned, everything was running smoothly. Greg hadn't officially moved in to his place, but there was enough of his stuff there for a lifetime, and he definitely stayed over more often than not. Sherlock wasn't exactly thrilled, but other than that it was pretty great. At least to Mycroft it was. When Greg started his first sentence in half an hour with a _'Listen…'_ Mycroft knew it was over. Apparently, Mycroft was lovely, really, and it had been fun, but… There wasn't a clear 'but'. It just wasn't working, it seemed. He deserved something better, and something about how they both knew for some time now that they weren't working together was said too. Mycroft didn't really get that part. He could have begged him to stay -he wanted to, that was for sure- but Mycroft knew it would have been no use at all. So he nodded and agreed with everything Gregory said, and let him kiss him on the cheek goodbye, and held his breath until he heard the front door closing behind him. And so, as swiftly and gently as he had made Mycroft fall in love with him, Greg was gone. And that was it.

For an hour he sat there, on the couch, staring at the TV screen but not really watching. He didn't move, else he would start feeling the pain. Mycroft closed his eyes for a second; he tried to describe the sensations to himself, but he wasn't really sure of what he was feeling. His head was undoubtedly reeling; he couldn't think at all. But he just couldn't accept what had just happened. There was no reason in this world why Gregory would leave; they were in love. Mycroft was in love; deeply, passionately, like he had never been before. The thought of Gregory not having loved him back was unbearable. For the first time in many years, he found himself trying to fight back tears.

Anthea rang the bell with a little more intensity than anticipated. She wasn't the type to get nervous, but, admittedly, there were a few exceptions. She didn't have to wait long at the door before Mycroft opened. There was a glimpse of disappointment in his eyes.

-Ah, Anthea. Come in.

-Sir, is everything all right?

As he looked down to the ground, his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly to the side.

-I apparently got myself… dumped.

Anthea just stared for a second. She could see his face contorting in an effort to contain his emotions.

-Sir…

He shook his head, tying to look unaffected.

-I will need you to collect all of Gregory's belongings immediately and delivering them to his apartment. And that will be all.

Anthea didn't move. She stood there, blinking in disbelief for a second or two. She then proceeded to launch herself into her boss' arms. Mycroft was painfully stiff at first, but immediately relaxed. He didn't say a word, he didn't make a sound. He cried in silence in her arms, clutching his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking underneath her soothing hand.

Anthea allowed him to have half a Valium when the clock struck 3 am. They had to be at work at six, but she promptly cancelled all his meetings for the next day. They slept on the couch until nine, his head resting on her knees, although she knew she would wake up with the worst of neck-aches.

Mycroft hadn't changed much, in appearance; he was early to the office, he was as polite and enchanting as ever, he even stuck to his diet right down to the last comma. But Anthea knew he was still hurting. She had seen him biting his lower lip while he idly looked through the contacts on his phone. She knew he never called, though. Control. Wasn't all in life about it?

The days passed, and the weeks, and though she trusted time would slowly lighten the weight he was carrying, Anthea realized there was a permanent shadow in his eyes that didn't appear to be going away.

Still, there was work to do, and wars to stop, and events to attend. So about a month and a half after Mycroft had gotten his heart shattered to small pieces, there they were, arm in arm, at the Annual Gala of Dapper Looking Gentlemen or something similar, according to Anthea. And Mycroft was smiling. An actual smile too, small but honest. '_For the first time in a while'_ she reckoned. But then again, her jokes were hilarious. So when she saw the colors draining from his face she knew. She had to catch the glass of champagne from falling from his hand.

-What is he doing here?

Anthea didn't even have to turn around.

-I don't know, sir. Let's just go. I'll stay over again tonight if you want.

He took a deep breath. Control.

-No, we're staying. This evening is too important to be ruined by something so trivial.

They kept dancing, and he kept drinking. They discretely laughed at the women's dresses and later he paid 2 thousand pounds for a painting in the charity auction, which he then almost broke in half when he tripped and nearly fell on top of when trying to determine if it was an eagle owl or a barn owl flying in the background.

They didn't see Greg Lestrade again until they were leaving. This time he saw them too. They were pretty far away, so silent smiles and nods were exchanged, and Anthea promptly dragged Mycroft out by the arm. They had to make a quick visit to the backyard before leaving, so he could vomit on the host's prize-winning violets while she rubbed his back. In the car she confiscated his phone when she realized he was trying to type without taking it out of his pocket.

-That wasn't very smooth.

Mycroft just laid his head on her shoulder and kept silent.

-Just let me know if you feel sick again.

Three more times Mycroft saw Gregory Lestrade. Once, when Sherlock got himself shot during a case, they crossed each other at the hospital. The second time they met, completely by chance –or so said Mycroft- at a Christmas party he hadn't bothered to attend the four previous years. The third time, they ran into each other on the street. This time they actually talked. It hurt Mycroft to utter every word, but he smiled while he did. He avoided eye contact the best he could, though. When goodbyes were said and each went on his way, Mycroft took out his phone. He searched for Greg Lestrade and pressed 'delete'. He then looked for someone else.

-Anthea, dear. Would you meet me for coffee? We need to discuss our holidays. I'm thinking Venice.


End file.
